


all I want of the world

by taykash



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/M, M/M, accidental misgendering, bisexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taykash/pseuds/taykash
Summary: Linhardt is inseparable from his (straight) best friend, Caspar, who is a fitness model with a sizable Instagram following. They're used to getting mistaken for a couple, but when the paparazzi catch them together and publish an article that claims Linhardt is Caspar's girlfriend, the wheels start turning.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	all I want of the world

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for The Three Houses AU Bang @FE3HAUBang !!
> 
> I've never done a bang before and it was so exciting.
> 
> I was delighted to be paired up with Box, @Laaatikko, who even cheerfully accepted my last-minute request for a second piece. It was great working with you! I've never had art made based on my fic before, so I was really happy that everything worked out so well. :D
> 
> This is in the same universe as @augustfai's fic for the same bang, to be posted next week. (I will update this with the link when it's up.) We signed up together and it's been months of writing sprints and brainstorming and complaining at each other and now we're here!
> 
> The title is from Carl Phillips' poem, "Domestic," and suits how tragic Linhardt is in this.

Linhardt von Hevring had never dreamed of labor. If he could, he’d rather not work at all and instead spend his life in bed reading and napping and eating sweet buns. 

But the world didn’t let him do that, so he was a computer engineer, an occupation which at least let him spend his life propped in his bed. He’d built a desk layout around his mattress so that everything he needed in life was in reach. His monitor and computer sat on a multi-level desk that he could simply pull towards him to work from his bed or push it away to sleep peacefully. A water server stood next to his bed so he could fill up his water bottle with the touch of a button just by rolling over. When his back and hips started aching from being in bed too long, he had another workspace across the room complete with a very expensive, ergonomic black and green desk chair that had a matching footrest and a thick, fluffy blanket for when he got cold. He got all the news he deemed important from the internet ー mostly new product news from his favorite furniture company and local bakeries ー and he had special alerts set up for what he considered to be the most important of all news.

That was, of course, every time Caspar von Bergliez was mentioned in the media. Caspar was Linhardt’s best friend, and a fitness model who was fairly popular due to his being featured in campaigns for products like men’s cosmetics and fast food. His Instagram was also a hit, though Caspar modestly attributed his follower numbers to Bruiser, his bulldog/lab mix who he doted on.

One evening, Linhardt was lazily reading through some code when he got an alert that Caspar had been mentioned on some gossip website. He opened the website to see a large photo featuring not just Caspar, but a familiar head of long green hair.

The headline declared:  
Caspar von Bergliez Steps Out With His Girlfriend!

[ ](https://ibb.co/SxHxtzG)

Linhardt squinted.

That was definitely a photo from the day before when he and Caspar had gone on a picnic and Linhardt had fallen asleep, propped up in Caspar’s lap. Caspar was leaning against a tree, one hand in Linhardt’s hair. Bruiser snoozed, curled up next to them.

Linhardt had been wearing some pretty loose, shapeless clothing and had a big hat to protect himself from the sun, so he supposed that he might have looked rather feminine. He was so used to getting called ma'am or miss that he didn't bother correcting most people unless it was an official matter regarding his identity, as he was never one to care too much about gender presentation. Plus, he'd grown used to rumors about his and Caspar’s relationship over the years, so the assumption of their relationship didn't make Linhardt think twice, either.

What Linhardt couldn’t get over was Caspar was looking down at him with what he would normally describe as a loving look on his face. That would be weird, because they were best friends. And Caspar was straight. Linhardt knew that better than anyone.

Linhardt immediately opened up his messaging app.

Linhardt: Ashe  
Linhardt: look at this  
Linhardt has sent a link.  
Ashe: sorry they misgendered you :(  
Linhardt: whatever  
Linhardt: look at caspar’s face  
Ashe: what about it?  
Ashe: he always looks like that at you  
Ashe: and at Bruiser  
Ashe: and at cats  
Linhardt: ???

Linhardt stared at the words on his screen.

Maybe he didn't know Caspar as well as he thought he did.

\-----

Linhardt and Caspar had met when they were assigned to be college roommates their freshman year. 

Caspar, a member of the wrestling team, moved in first because he had training over the summer. On move-in day, Linhardt yanked open the door, propped it up with one of his large suitcases, and found himself peering into a mostly furnished room that included a George Foreman grill that was already crusted with old grease. Linhardt’s side of the room was obvious; Caspar had posters of wrestling athletes on his walls and laundry on the floor, but Linhardt’s side was nothing but a naked bed, a desk, and a dresser. In the center of the wall across from the door was a sink with a medicine cabinet hanging over it, something Linhardt already knew that he was going to deeply appreciate.

Linhardt’s first words in his dorm room were, “It stinks of beef in here.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Caspar spun around in his seat with a laugh, a wrestling match playing on his laptop. “I make a lot of burgers.”

Caspar had bright blue eyes and bright blue hair and both his voice and the sound from his laptop were loud. Looking at him made Linhardt's eyes hurt.

“That’s something we’ll have to talk about,” Linhardt muttered as he turned away from Caspar, dragging three massive suitcases one by one into the room. Linhardt felt beads of sweat form along his hairline, making him grimace. Sweating was the worst, and Linhardt really didn't see why carrying suitcases had to be so strenuous. Weren't the wheels meant to make life easier?

“Wow! You have a lot of stuff. I only brought one suitcase.” Caspar chattered away as Linhardt opened the first one, revealing nothing but a big, heavy-looking blanket. Did he always talk this much? That would also be something they'd have to work on. Linhardt was not someone who enjoyed idle chatter.

“It’s not that much,” Linhardt corrected, opening the second to show nothing but bedding, complete with two large, fluffy pillows. He heaved a great sigh in anticipation of the grand task ahead of him, but he stood up, new sheets in hand. The thick plastic read “680 Thread Count” on the packaging in big letters. Linhardt unzipped it open and tossed the plastic in the general direction of the garbage can.

Linhardt was very fastidious about his bed-making, and he could feel Caspar's inquisitive eyes on his every movement. Each corner was folded and tucked in tightly, each pillow properly fluffed up. Bed-making was the only chore Linhardt put attention and care into because there was nothing worse than waking up and finding his box sheet had come loose.

“What’s in your third suitcase?” Caspar asked, taking a large slurp of the bright blue drink that matched his hair, making Linhardt wrinkle his nose in disgust.

“Everything else,” Linhardt shrugged, sliding a pillowcase onto his second pillow before shutting his suitcase and pushing it off to the side with his foot. “It can all wait.” Linhardt exaggeratedly stretched out his arms over his head with a big yawn before climbing into his cool white sheets covered with a fluffy brown blanket.

“Oh! Then let’s get lunch!” Caspar hopped off his chair with a loud thud, clearly ready to go, but Linhardt just looked at him as he pulled the thick blanket over his body and settled his tired body against the mattress. He made a mental note to get a soft mattress pad, as the college-assigned mattress was firmer than he liked.

“I’d rather not,” Linhardt replied, snuggling down until the only parts of him that could be seen were his eyes and the top of his head. “Moving in was quite exhausting and I need some time to recharge. Enjoy your lunch.”

Linhardt deliberately closed his eyes so he couldn’t see Caspar’s face anymore, but he could hear the bewilderment in his voice. “Oh...all right! See you later, then!”

Caspar took heavy steps to the door, which creaked when he opened it. Linhardt listened to Caspar walk away before he turned around and let himself fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

\---

When Linhardt woke up later that day, Caspar was sitting on his own bed with his back against the wall, watching something on his laptop so his face glowed with blue light. The room was dark otherwise, the blinds drawn. Was it already nighttime? Did Linhardt sleep that long? It wouldn't be the first time, but it wasn't quite what he had intended to do.

“Hey!” Caspar glanced up when Linhardt sluggishly sat up in his bed on the other side of the room. “You missed all the orientation stuff. And dinner. I got a sandwich for you, though.” Caspar gestured to the paper bag on Linhardt's desk.

Linhardt blinked owlishly at Caspar, almost as if he wasn’t sure where he was. Oh ー that’s right. A roommate. College. “...Thanks.” He dragged himself out of bed and moved to the sink, grimacing as the faucet squeaked loudly when he turned it to let the cool water run until it became warm. He splashed his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes before realizing he'd never unpacked his towels. He bent over the basin, face dripping, before wiping it off with his sleeve and a sigh.

“We never introduced ourselves,” Caspar pointed out, sliding off his bed and flicking on the switch for the overhead light, making Linhardt squint at him in the sudden brightness. It occurred to Linhardt that he hadn’t actually taken a good look at him before, since he had been focused only on his top priority: getting his bed together.

“I’m Caspar von Bergliez!” he said, thrusting out a hand at Linhardt. Linhardt gazed at him blearily, finally looking properly at the blue hair that still had too much product in it for someone in sleepwear, and the bright blue eyes that were gazing straight-on at Linhardt with too much sincerity. He was in a tank top and shorts so his extremely toned muscles were on display ー a sight that Linhardt couldn’t say he objected to.

“Linhardt von Hevring,” Linhardt eventually said, finally taking Caspar’s hand to shake. As expected, Caspar’s handshake was a little too tight, making Linhardt wince. “I’m a pre-med major.”

Caspar nodded slowly, his eyes widening. Linhardt had probably never met someone as easy to read as him before; he could tell that Caspar was thinking, “that makes sense,” even though they hadn’t actually talked properly yet. If they had, maybe he'd realize that it didn't make much sense at all. Linhardt was a pre-med major partially out of interest, partially out of spite.

Caspar was still talking. Goodness, he talked a lot. “I’m a business major! I’m on the wrestling team, so I’ll have a lot of early practices. I’ll try not to wake you up.” Caspar's eyes sparkled proudly in the artificial light.

Wrestling. That explained Caspar’s toned but lithe form. He was shorter than Linhardt by a whole head, but he could definitely bench press Linhardt if he wanted. Not that it would be very hard. “I’ll be up late most nights, so I appreciate that,” Linhardt replied, moving back to his side of the room and unzipping his untouched suitcase. “Like tonight. I’m going to the library.”

“The library?” Caspar asked, confusion evident in his voice. “It’s already after 10 o’clock. Classes haven’t even started yet.”

“It’s the perfect time to go,” Linhardt said, pulling a backpack out of his suitcase that already looked like it had books in it. “I’ll take that sandwich with me.”

“Sure…” Caspar offered him the paper bag, still looking unsure. “Will you be all right?”

“I don’t look like much, but I can keep myself out of trouble. See you later.” Linhardt slid his backpack on and didn’t look back as he took the paper bag and left the room, leaving Caspar shrugging as he went back to his wrestling video.

\-----

One Saturday night early in the semester, Linhardt trudged back to the dorm, grumpy from being banished from the library. “I can’t believe they can’t wax the floors with students inside. Why not? It’s just a machine,” he was still grumbling as he opened the room to his door.

By this point, he and Caspar had already gotten used to their daily routines. Caspar was surprisingly stoic about his athletic lifestyle, so he was early to bed and early to rise, even on the weekends. Some days he and Caspar never even saw each other awake.

This night, however, Linhardt stopped in his tracks upon opening the door because Caspar was lying on the floor, his laptop sitting on his stomach and his hands covering his face.

“Caspar?” Linhardt raised an eyebrow, stepping around Caspar to put his bag on his desk. "Grunt if you're still upon this mortal coil."

“I’m alive,” Caspar mumbled, “even if this literature paper is trying to kill me.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I’d hate to have to call campus police because you were murdered by Intro to American Lit.” Linhardt leaned against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Caspar's prone body.

“Everything’s so depressing,” Caspar groaned, sitting up. “No one is happy in America. Let’s watch a movie instead.”

Linhardt had never been one to have friends. His middle school teachers called him antisocial and his high school teachers said he was charmless. More than a few of his science teachers had pulled him aside and told him that having a good bedside manner was part of being a good doctor, to which he had a single response: a shrug. Part of the reason he was pre-med was that so many people told him he wasn't cut out for it.

Caspar was sitting on the cold linoleum flooring in his threadbare sweatpants, looking up at Linhardt with a slightly desperate look in his eyes, and Linhardt knew precisely how to turn him down. He’d been planning to spend the night with his research, after all, not watching whatever ridiculous thing Caspar was sure to choose.

But Linhardt didn’t say that.

What Linhardt said was, “I’m not going to sit on the cold floor.”

Caspar beamed, his 1000-watt smile making Linhardt want to squint, and leaned over to yank the blanket off of his own bed, pulling his pillow down with it. “We can make a fort!”

“I’m not putting my bedding on the floor,” Linhardt responded with a frown. They didn't have a shared TV, but he had assumed they'd get on Caspar's (thin, uncomfortable-looking) bed. He certainly wasn't about to let Caspar get in his bed and squish all the stuffing.

“...We can just sit on this, then!" Caspar patted his balled up blanket. "I’ll turn the radiator on, too, though you’re probably only cold since you have no muscles.”

“What would I need muscles for?” Linhardt crossed over to his dresser but turned around to stare at Caspar in slight bewilderment. "I have an appropriate amount of muscle for my level of activity."

“But you’d be warmer if you had muscles!” Caspar flexed his right arm and pointed at his bicep with his left hand, flashing Linhardt a knowing grin. "Most of the wrestling team doesn't even have to wear a jacket until winter."

“Building up muscles is a far more difficult and dreadful task than simply putting on a coat.” Linhardt sighed and pulled out his warmer set of pajamas. “Anyway, I’m going to order pizza. I usually eat later while I work, but I might as well eat it as we watch. What would you like on it?”

Caspar was too busy arranging his blanket and sad, thin pillow on the ground to look at Linhardt as he responded. “Oh, I have weigh-ins on Monday, so I’m good. I already brushed my teeth to stop any midnight cravings, anyway.”

Linhardt watched as Caspar clumsily but carefully arranged the bedding, then pulled out his phone with a shrug. If he didn’t want pizza, then more for Linhardt. He couldn't imagine having to care about his diet that much.

The movie was some action movie that Caspar swore Linhardt would love and Linhardt knew he wouldn’t. As Linhardt watched yet another building go up in flames as he chewed slowly on a half-eaten slice of anchovy pizza, he marveled at the fact that he was sitting on a blanket on the floor watching a summer blockbuster when he could have been reading at his desk.

College is weird, he thought, as he glanced sidelong at Caspar’s enraptured face, his bright eyes glued to the laptop screen.

\---

It was early in the second semester of their freshman year when Caspar came back to their dorm room from a Saturday morning practice far earlier than usual. Linhardt was still in bed but awake, scrolling through his phone when the door opened with much less gusto than normal.

"Hey," Caspar said, but Linhardt immediately noticed the unusual morose tone in his voice. Linhardt let his eyes slide to where Caspar was shuffling inside, packs of ice taped to his right shoulder.

"Are you planning to open up a shaved ice parlor?" Linhardt asked blandly, turning back to his phone.

Caspar huffed a laugh that was obviously fake, making Linhardt raise an eyebrow. "Separated shoulder, the doctor said," Caspar explained, sitting in his desk chair so that he was facing Lin's bed. "I need surgery."

"That's too bad," Linhardt said, though there was no real feeling in his voice. Athletes got injured all the time. Caspar usually came back from bouts with scrapes and bruises, smile gleaming behind bandaids and the strong medicinal smell of muscle pain patches.

"I've messed up my shoulder enough times, I think," Caspar said, his voice quiet. "I'm going to quit the team."

That made Linhardt turn to look at Caspar. Caspar lived and breathed wrestling. He took modeling jobs on the side to make some easy cash, but only if they didn't get in the way of his wrestling schedule. He took great pains to watch his meals to avoid having to do crash diets for weigh-ins, something that drove Linhardt crazy when Caspar was clearly eyeing and resisting some of Linhardt's junk food.

Linhardt never had anything like that. What Linhardt had was the joy of learning, the exhilaration of a breakthrough when his research brought forth results, the overwhelming sense of relief and triumph when he got proof that his hunches were right. Maybe that was what Caspar felt with wrestling. If so, then Linhardt could understand the heartbreak behind Caspar's weak smile.

"If you think that's best," was all Linhardt responded before the room fell quiet.

Caspar was able to get the surgery during their first long weekend but was still on prescription painkillers when he was discharged from the hospital. Linhardt made sure to come back early from the library that night, though he wasn't quite sure why. Caspar hadn't asked for his help. But Caspar had also insisted on staying in their dorm room instead of going home, even though it would take him over two months to recover from the surgery. Linhardt hadn't bothered asking for the details.

Caspar was sitting on his bed when Linhardt arrived, looking pale and holding ice packs against his shoulder, his arm in a sling. "Heya, Linhardt," he greeted, a faint smile on his face. "It feels like I haven't seen you in forever."

"It's only been four days," Linhardt corrected, sighing. "Were you expecting me to be your helper throughout all this?"

"No!" Caspar replied quickly, waving his uninjured hand quickly, leading to the ice pack sliding off his shoulder and plopping against the mattress. "I don't need help."

"Caspar, I'm a pre-med major," Linhardt pointed out. "I may not be an expert in shoulder surgery specifically, but you're going to need help doing a lot of things for a little while."

Caspar looked thoroughly uncomfortable, an expression Linhardt wasn't used to seeing on his face. "I guess...but I didn't want to go home to make my mom take care of me. She has enough on her plate."

Linhardt opened his mouth to insist that Caspar go home, but closed it immediately. Caspar looked smaller than Linhardt had ever seen him, cradling his arm in a sling and shivering a little. Linhardt felt a pang in his heart, and everything came rushing together like a research epiphany.

He'd never felt this way about anyone before; he certainly had never wanted to volunteer himself for the great amount of work he knew was necessary to help a recovering patient. He was pre-med because he knew doctors left a lot of the care to nurses. Linhardt wanted to solve problems and figure out puzzles, not get his hands dirty and be in the thick of the everyday muck and mess.

But for Caspar, he wanted to be there. He wanted to ease Caspar's pain and make his day a little easier, brighten it a smidge however he could.

Linhardt had never thought of falling in love. It was something that happened to other people with lower priorities and more social skills. He’d examined the idea from an academic point of view and had discarded it. So what was he feeling now? The unfamiliarity of the feelings rushing through him scared him, but he couldn’t resist their pull.

"I'll help you," he heard the words come out of his mouth before he even processed them. "I won't be around all the time, but I can help you when I'm here."

"You're the best, Lin," Caspar beamed. Linhardt had never been called "Lin" before, and the sound of the nickname in Caspar's voice made his stomach do somersaults.

\-----

Over the next two months, Linhardt helped Caspar dress, eat, and even carried some of his stuff to his classes when he started attending again. Linhardt hated every single minute of caretaking and changed his major to engineering a week and a half into helping Caspar.

The mysteries of the human body intrigued him as much as ever, but he never wanted to take care of someone ever again. When Caspar accidentally popped his stitches in the first week, Linhardt almost threw up where he stood.

Linhardt would never say a word against nurses ever again. They were much stronger human beings than he could ever be.

Still, while the tasks were the actual worst, Caspar's smiles and words of gratitude kept Linhardt going. He genuinely enjoyed sharing meals with Caspar, even if Caspar had the most disgusting table manners this side of the stray cats on campus that had a tendency to hork their food back up on the quad. Linhardt actually felt a little regretful after Caspar got the medical go-ahead to begin doing more everyday activities with his injured arm, meaning Caspar didn't need Linhardt around quite as much anymore.

But they'd gotten closer over that time. Their movie nights became weekly routines and without weigh-ins, Caspar had decided to indulge in everything he'd previously denied himself. He didn't mind anchovy pizza, but preferred sausage and mushroom, so they agreed to alternate weeks picking the pizza. Sometimes he bought sweet buns, sometimes cookies, but he always presented his wares by brandishing the bag with a flourish and a loud, "Linny, I got you something!"

Linhardt hated how his heart skipped a beat every single time. 

But he found himself daydreaming over his homework sometimes. It may have been calculus problem sets in front of him, but the only thing in his mind's eye was the sight of Caspar's arm slung over his shoulder, the curve of Caspar's toned thigh brushing his own skinny one on the blanket, the firm six-pack that Linhardt had gotten very good looks at when Linhardt helped Caspar change...

And then one movie night, Caspar came home, a girl with long pink hair and pink eyes and a high voice in tow.

"Hey, Lin," Caspar said with a beaming smile, the sort of smile he used to wear when he came back from having won a wrestling match. "This is Hilda, my girlfriend. She wanted to watch a movie with us tonight."

"Cas told me all about you and how much fun you have," Hilda said brightly. She twirled part of one of her pigtails - pigtails, in _college_ \- around a finger. "I hope you don't mind!"

Linhardt looked at Hilda, then at Caspar, and his flight-or-fight instinct kicked in: he had to flee. "Enjoy your movie," he said, grabbing his bookbag. He didn't even know what was in it. "I have some work I have to get done. I almost forgot."

"Hey, Linhardt!" he heard Caspar call behind him as he rushed out the room, the door slamming behind him.

Linhardt blindly made his way to the library, where he took over a table. It was after midterms, so the library was relatively empty. The only thing in his bag had been the text for his philosophy class, a text he’d already read, so he simply stared off into space as the book sat open uselessly in front of him. He felt like his brain was misfiring.

“Linhardt?” A quiet voice suddenly came from his right side. He turned to see Ashe, his partner for a presentation in his Intro to Art History class last semester. They’d grown to be decent friends, occasionally getting lunch together if Linhardt woke up early enough. Ashe was pleasant to be around, though he had an unfortunate penchant for historical fiction that Linhardt could not bring himself to care about.

“You don’t look that great,” Ashe said, concern in his voice as he gently touched Linhardt on the shoulder. Linhardt felt a little nauseated at the idea of having to explain himself. What was he supposed to say? ‘My roommate, whom I’m in love with, just came home with his very female girlfriend’?

“I’m fine,” Linhardt managed to say, gesturing at his book.

“I’m in the other section of that class, and we finished that chapter weeks ago,” Ashe pointed out, though his voice was kind. “Would you like to come over to my room for some snacks? My roommate is an art student, so he'll be in the studio all night.”

Normally, Linhardt would say no. Why should he willingly spend time with someone when he could be reading instead?

But this was not a normal time. Linhardt knew Ashe wouldn’t press him to talk, and it’s not like Linhardt was processing any words right now. He sighed, tossing the book into his bag. “Sure. I’ll go.”

Ashe smiled, and the warmth in his gaze made Linhardt look away.

Linhardt took over Ignatz's bed for the night (Ashe texted for permission on their way to the dorm), utterly loathing the thin pillow and the scratchy blanket Ignatz used. He longed for his bed, with his high-count thread sheets and fluffy pillows, but whenever he thought about potentially walking in on Caspar and that girl, it felt like his insides were being knitted together. A poor night's sleep was far preferable to seeing Caspar with his girlfriend, a fact that both scared and angered Linhardt.

He left Ashe's dorm at a time when he knew Caspar was sure to be up. There was no way Caspar would skip his morning run, even if the other option was cuddling with a girl. He may no longer be a wrestler, but he still insisted on exercising, though Linhardt barely understood why.

Linhardt braced himself when he opened the door, afraid to see what was inside...

But all he found was Caspar, sitting on his own bed in his running clothes. "Lin, where've you been?" Caspar shot straight up when the door opened. "I was so worried! You didn't check any of your messages!"

Linhardt pointed at his desk, where his phone lay dead. "I didn't have it with me."

He resisted a sigh of relief at the realization that the girl wasn't around and instead made a beeline for his side of the room. "I didn't get much sleep last night, so I'll nap for a while."

"Why'd you leave like that yesterday?" Caspar said, his voice both concerned and angry. "It was supposed to be movie night. You made Hilda think you hate her."

Linhardt stayed silent, his back turned to Caspar, as he pulled his shirt off over his head and shrugged his pajama shirt on. He turned to face Caspar as he did up his buttons slowly. "Caspar, do I have many friends?"

"Uh..." Caspar tilted his head, reminding Linhardt of a confused puppy. "I don't think so. I don't see you with anyone else than me and Ashe."

"Precisely. So why do you think I would be amenable to a stranger suddenly appearing without warning in my living space to ostensibly spend time with me?" Linhardt moved toward his desk to grab his second hair ribbon, one that he used to tie up his hair. He pulled the front part of his hair up and tied it so it created a little pineapple at the top of his head, a nightly routine to help prevent his face from getting hot and sweaty.

"I didn't think about that," Caspar muttered, looking ashamedly down at his feet. "I just...I really like her, so I really wanted to introduce you two. I guess I should have warned you."

"You should have," Linhardt agreed, continuing to move about the room to continue his bedtime routine despite the fact that the sun was gradually getting higher and higher. "I don't appreciate strangers being in my room, especially if I was unaware that they existed in the first place." Especially not if they also happened to be the girlfriend of the boy Linhardt was unlucky enough to be head over heels for.

"I should have asked," Caspar scratched his head. "That was my bad, huh?" Suddenly, he brightened, giving Linhardt a bad feeling about what was to come. "Maybe we can make up for it by all going to dinner together! The dining hall is serving Daphnel Stew and peaches and cream tomorrow. You love both of those, right?"

Linhardt groaned as he got into bed. "We'll see how I feel after I catch up on my sleep," he said, tucking himself into bed and turning to face the wall. "It's about time you get running, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is! I just wanted to make sure I didn't miss you." Linhardt flinched as Caspar patted him on the shoulder from behind unexpectedly. "Sweet dreams, Linny."

It took Caspar another few noisy minutes before he finally left the room. Linhardt pulled one of his luxuriously plump pillows over his head and groaned loudly.

* * *

Caspar had ended up dating Hilda for the majority of their college experience. He'd always been a little bummed that she and Linhardt didn't seem to get along, though when Hilda broke up with him right before graduation, she told him that Linhardt should thank her for Caspar's new haircut.

Caspar didn't understand what she meant at all. Sure, Hilda was the one who took him to get his haircut and convinced him to get the undercut, but what did that do with Lin? Lin did take one look at him and left immediately for the library when he'd come back from the barber's, so maybe there was something Caspar was missing...

Still, he'd been blindsided by the break-up. He thought he and Hilda were a great pair. She laughed at all his jokes and always liked to feel up his muscles, while he liked her creativity and thought she was super sexy. But she broke up with him right before finals and he ended up writing a pleading email to his Intro to Compsci prof explaining the circumstances. He only took that class to fulfill a requirement and because he figured Linhardt could help him with the homework, but the exams were harder than he expected and there was no way he could concentrate with a broken heart.

"It's been fun," she had said with a smile, "but we're not meant to be together. I've been pretty selfish for the past few years, but it's time."

"Time for what?" Caspar had asked, desperation in his voice, but she'd just dropped a kiss on his cheek and ran a finger across his freshly shaved undercut.

"Linhardt should thank me for this," she said cheerily, then picked up her purse, a gift from him, and left him sitting on the porch of the small house he and Linhardt had rented off-campus.

Caspar still didn't understand what she'd meant, and it had been almost four years since then. He managed to graduate by the skin of his teeth and he and Linhardt both moved to the same town after graduation, though they had stopped living together because Caspar liked inviting his former teammates and other friends over and Linhardt wanted to live like a hermit.

Caspar had become a relatively successful fitness model and now had a decent career and a dog. Sometimes his business degree came in handy when he had to read contracts, so between being able to lock down his degree, his wrestling teammates who stuck around even after he'd been forced to quit, and Linhardt, Caspar thought college had been a pretty good time.

One morning, Caspar was putting together his post-workout breakfast of toast and a vegetable omelet with a side of breakfast sausage when Linhardt called him. Linhardt had previously declared that “typing messages to you is a waste of time,” so Linhardt only ever called him with video enabled.

“Hey, Linny!” Caspar said cheerily, propping up his phone against the kitchen wall before flipping his sausage to brown the other side. “Why are you awake so early?”

The video was so dark that Caspar could only see Linhardt’s big blue eyes blearily blinking at the camera. “I’m going to bed now.”

Caspar laughed. “That makes more sense. What’s up?”

“Did you see that tabloid article about you?” Linhardt’s voice was close to a whisper, as though he were ready to drop off. Caspar really didn’t understand why he didn’t just call on speakerphone, since all Caspar could see of Linhardt was maybe 1/8th of his face, anyway.

“Nah, you know I don’t check that stuff. Was it interesting?” Caspar plated his omelet, the diced peppers gleaming against the yellow of the eggs. He could cook well enough to make things taste decent, but he’d never gotten the hang of chopping things evenly. Did it matter, though? He couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Only if you find the fact that I’m apparently your girlfriend interesting,” Linhardt’s voice was droll. Caspar laughed, picking up his plate and phone and moving to his table. “Girlfriend’s a new one,” Caspar pointed out, adjusting the phone so Linhardt could watch him eat.

“I don’t think they actually saw my face,” Linhardt yawned and -- rolled over, maybe? The phone suddenly moved and Caspar could see more of his face. “But I just felt like letting you know in case you had anyone bringing up your sudden new relationship status.”

“Too bad the only girl in my life is Bruiser,” Caspar grinned, glancing fondly at his dog who was eating her own breakfast in the corner of the kitchen. He’d named her the moment he laid eyes on her and just shrugged when the rescue informed him of her actual sex. “Girls can be bruisers,” he’d pointed out, leaving no room for argument.

“Though that reminds me! Wanna be my date?” Caspar pointed at the camera with the knife he was using to butter his toast.

“To what,” Linhardt said flatly, his eyes narrowing, though Caspar wasn’t sure if they were narrowing with suspicion or with sleep. Sometimes with Linhardt, it was the same thing.

“There’s an industry party and my stylist has been on my case forever about meeting you,” Caspar explained, using his fork to cut a mouthful of omelet. “It’s at a lounge called Bed and instead of seats, there are beds, so I figured if there’s any time I can actually invite you to one of these, it’s this one.”

Linhardt heaved a great sigh as though Caspar had asked him to perform manual labor. Considering Linhardt spent as much time in his own bed as he possibly could, maybe he had. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks, Linny! You’re the best!” Caspar beamed with a mouth full of eggs, making Linhardt grimace. Linhardt’s “I’ll think about it” often meant “yes,” since Linhardt would never be convinced to do something he didn’t want to do unless coerced.

“I know,” Linhardt sighed, rubbing his right eye. “And now it’s time for bed. Good night.”

“Sweet dreams!” Caspar said cheerily, watching as the phone call cut off.

\---

While Caspar was known for his Instagram, his steady income actually came from his work as a model for fitness magazines. Often his photoshoots didn't require him to wear much more than workout gear as he often modeled for fitness routines or for fitness-related ads, but occasionally he was chosen to do lifestyle photoshoots. The muscled man couldn't spend his entire life working out - sometimes he had a social life.

Dorothea was one of the stylists for the magazine _Fitness For Life_ , and she and Caspar had struck up an easy rapport when he first got hired for the magazine just after he graduated college. She was often at his photoshoots, ready with the makeup powder and the hair curler, making sure his sneakers were tied evenly and his compression shorts weren't peeking beneath his workout shorts.

"Look at you," she said with praise as she ran a comb through his messy hair as he sat in her makeup chair. "You get to be the star of the party this time."

"It's not a real party," he laughed, looking at her in the mirror as she worked. "It's just some pictures. I don't really go to parties much."

"I know you sometimes go to the industry parties, but I do check your Instagram. You don't usually go out on the town, do you? It feels like you're outside all the time." Caspar watched as her pink-painted fingernails wove in and out of his hair as she worked mousse into it. He liked watching Dorothea work her magic to make him look even better than he usually did ー one moment it was just regular old Caspar and then the next, it was model Caspar looking better than he ever did. He didn't get it. But then, Dorothea always looked her best: her long brown hair was always glossy and her eyeliner never smudged. Her impeccable looks always reminded him of Hilda and how she always insisted on looking her best, too.

It was so different from Linhardt, who preferred to roll out of bed and pull on the top shirt in the nearest laundry pile. Caspar liked that about Linhardt; his hair was always so nice, but his attitude toward his looks meant that Caspar could literally hang around Linhardt in his boxers and never feel bad. He couldn't do that around Sylvain or Raphael, his former wrestling teammates, even though they'd shared a locker room. Sylvain always tried to look good and Raphael made Caspar a little insecure about his appearance just because he was so _big_ that Caspar couldn't compare.

Nope, being with Linhardt was the most comfortable place for Caspar.

"I'm outside a lot, yeah," Caspar grinned in the mirror, knowing Dorothea would look up and catch it eventually. "Actually, the other day I ran into a guy on the beach when I was taking Bruiser for a run. His boyfriend is in space! Can you believe that?"

"In space?" Dorothea wrinkled her nose. "What does that mean?"

"Like, he's an astronaut or something. Poor guy really misses him." Caspar shook his head a little bit, earning himself a gentle slap on the head as Dorothea moved his head back into position for styling. "I don't think I'd enjoy being away from Lin for eight months, either."

"Are you finally dating?" Dorothea's hands stilled and she leaned over to look at Caspar with eyes wide.

"Dating?" Caspar laughed, waving his hands in the air. "No way! He's just my best friend, but we haven't spent much time apart since we met, so it'd be weird without him."

Dorothea stood back up and took a deep breath. "Caspar," she said in very measured tones, "you just compared yourself and Linhardt to a couple. You really think you don't have feelings for him?"

"I know everyone thinks we're a couple because we're together all the time," Caspar explained as though he's said these words many times before, "but we're just friends. Lin doesn't think of me like that, and anyway, I'm straight. It just sounded like this guy was best friends with his boyfriend and that's why he misses him." 

Dorothea's sigh was deep and long. She stayed quiet for a few moments before resuming her work doing Caspar's hair. "You said you were bringing Linhardt to Ferdie's next party, right?"

"Yeah! He said he'd be my date!" Caspar watched as Dorothea's reflection in the mirror twitched.

"Well, in that case, I'll pick out an outfit for you," Dorothea announced, and Caspar knew her tone of voice meant he couldn't argue. "You have to dress to impress."

"There isn't really anyone I want to impress," Caspar replied, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "I already know Ferdinand and Linhardt doesn't care about how I dress."

"Caspar," Dorothea said, the exasperation laced deeply in her voice, "you're lovable despite yourself."

"Thank you?" Caspar blinked. He couldn't tell if that was a compliment or not, but Dorothea had fallen silent as she finished placing the finishing touches to his hair so it fell just so over one eye, giving him a rakish look.

"Get out of my chair. Go get dressed," she said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Make sure to come back to get your outfit before you leave."

"Roger!" Caspar spun around in the chair and hopped up. "Thanks for everything, Thea."

"You'll be the death of me one day," she muttered, shooing him out of the makeup room.

\---

The night of the party, Caspar let himself into Linhardt’s apartment with his spare key. “Lin!” Caspar called from the front door, toeing off his studded leather sneakers. “I’m here to pick you up for the party!”

“Ugh,” Linhardt said in lieu of a greeting, stepping out of the bathroom.

Caspar stared.

Linhard had let his hair grow out after college and now it was long enough to reach his shoulder blades. He'd pulled it up in a lazy top knot, wisps falling out of it to frame his face and tickle the back of his neck. He wore a loose green sweatshirt and black joggers that were tight below the knees. Silver hoops glinted in a row down the curve of his left ear and it looked like he had swiped some eyeliner on.

Lin almost never dressed like this. He usually dressed as close to sleepwear as he could and often swanned about in oversized clothing that swallowed up his skinny body. The only other time he'd seen Linhardt dress up like he cared was when he got invited to a symposium where someone named Lysithea would be speaking, and it's not like Linhardt wore earrings and eyeliner to that.

“Lin,” Caspar felt like his throat was closing up. “You didn’t have to get piercings for this.”

Linhardt scoffed, grabbing his black and silver cross-body bag that fit snugly over his chest from its hook on the wall. “Bernadetta gave these to me forever ago. They’re fake.”

Caspar put a hand to his chest in legitimate relief. “Phew! I knew you wouldn’t go out and do so much just for some party.”

“Nope, never,” Linhardt agreed, looking Caspar up and down. Caspar fidgeted, glancing down at his dark jeans, dark purple T-shirt, and leather jacket. He wasn't exactly dressed in his normal clothes, either.

“Does it look weird?” Caspar asked, shuffling a bit. They were the clothes Dorothea insisted he wear, and they weren't exactly comfortable. He was jealous of Linhardt's effortless comfort even as he managed to look so good.

“Not at all,” Linhardt said, but Caspar blinked at how Linhardt’s voice sounded strange. “Just didn’t expect your pecs to be…” He gestured at Caspar’s chest.

Caspar blinked before barking out a laugh. “Yeah, Thea said she gave me a shirt that was two sizes too small.” He shrugged, tugging at his shirt. “I don’t get it.”

"She is a stylist," Linhardt pointed out. "She gets paid to know what looks good."

"I guess," Caspar shrugged, then jingled his car keys, instantly making Linhardt groan.

"I don't want to go in your car," Linhardt whined, shuffling backward toward his living room. "I hate your car."

"Lin, a Jeep is useful because I like to go to the beach with Bruiser," Caspar said with a surprising amount of patience for the number of times he's had to make this argument. "Anyway, you hate my motorcycle, too."

"Yes, because your motorcycle is a death trap, but your car smells like a wet dog," Linhardt complained, crossing his arms across his chest. "Fine. But you owe me a lot for all of this."

"Of course," Caspar grinned, turning around to slide his leather sneakers on. "What do you want?"

"I haven't figured it out yet, but it'll come to me," Linhardt grumbled, following Caspar and pulling black Doc Martens out of the hall closet. He sighed heavily and sat down on the stool placed in the entranceway precisely for the few times a year Linhardt needed to tie his shoes.

"I feel special," Caspar exclaimed, watching Linhardt tug on his shoelaces for a moment before opening the door. "You're wearing your special shoes for me!"

"It's mostly because you're driving so I don't have to bother walking much in these." Linhardt stood up when he finished tying his shoes, then pushed Caspar out, locking the door behind him. "If we were taking the train, I'd be in my slip-ons."

"I'm still honored," Caspar shot back, leading Linhardt to his beat-up Jeep which may or may not have been black at one point. Linhardt slid into the passenger seat, wrinkling his nose before Caspar turned the car on, allowing him to immediately roll the window down.

Lights streaked against the dark sky as they left Linhardt's residential area and took the local highway heading to the downtown area of the city, neon lights studding the atmosphere like misplaced stars. Caspar glanced over at Linhardt to see that he'd closed his eyes against the brightness. Were the colors of the neon rainbow dulled as they flashed over his face through shut eyelids? It was a shame, Caspar thought. He never got tired of seeing the lights slowly grow in number as though they were driving toward the center of an aurora, though when you finally got into the city, you couldn't see the rainbow for the lights anymore.

"Don't fall asleep, Lin. We're almost there," Caspar warned as he stopped at a red light, fingers tapping in rhythm with the soft song playing from his radio. He couldn't quite place the song ー it was an R&B ballad that sounded sort of 90s, sort of familiar. It wasn't bad, he supposed. He'd been to so many industry parties at this point that he had no expectations. They always got some random DJ that he'd never heard of to play music that had no lyrics. Caspar wasn't particularly a picky music-listener; he didn't really have a favorite band or anything, but he liked to listen to people's workout playlists. The party DJs never played anything that sounded like a workout playlist.

"Liiiin," Caspar drew out the word as they turned down the alley where the lounge was situated. Linhardt grunted, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. "The valet boys are going to hate you for coming in this car," he warned, gesturing at the men trading car keys for tickets in front of the lounge's door.

"At least I won't mind if they scratch it up," Caspar laughed, parking in front of the place and getting out of his seat. He scrambled around to open the door for Linhardt, grinning at the surprised look on Linhardt's face.

[](https://ibb.co/b21QmLz)

"You're my date tonight, right? Gotta treat you well," Caspar winked, but the smile faded from his face when he realized Linhardt hadn't moved at all and his face was bright red like he'd never seen it before.

"Linny?" Caspar leaned his body inside the car to peer at Linhardt's crimson face, but Linhardt leaned backward, body tilting over the gear stick.

"You surprised me," Linhardt finally managed to say. "I thought you were one of the valet guys."

"Sorry," Caspar stood back up, scratching his head a little bashfully as he felt his own cheeks turn pink. "I didn't mean to freak you out. Just thought it'd be funny." He stepped back to let Linhardt out of the car, a little uncomfortable at how uneasy he felt. He and Linhardt had been best friends for eight years now! That was almost a decade! So why would a joke like this feel so uncomfortable?

One of the valet guys came up to him and he heard the sound of Linhardt's car door shutting behind him as he handed over the keys and took the ticket on autopilot. He shook his head to clear his mind. "We can just walk in," he reassured Linhardt, who'd been looking skeptically at the dark, industrial door of the lounge.

"After you," Linhardt muttered, crossing his arms grumpily.

The lounge was dimly lit in purples and blues, and mattresses covered in white sheets and big pillows lined the walls. Bigger mattresses were placed sporadically, most of them covered in groups of people sitting awkwardly as they held their drinks and tried not to spill. Caspar took Linhardt's hand as he wove his way through the crowd, trying to find who he was looking for. Caspar kept getting stopped periodically by people he had worked with, photographers or other models, most of whom merely nodded at Linhardt before turning back to Caspar. It was rude, but Caspar was unfortunately used to the rudeness of people in this industry ー plus, he knew Linhardt probably didn't care to talk to any of them, either.

It took a while, but Caspar finally found who he was looking for: a curvy brunette leaning up against the bar as she flirted with the pretty bartender. "Thea!" Caspar yelled over the music ー which did not sound like anyone's workout playlist as he expected ー but she didn't turn around. He shrugged at Linhardt, who did not look interested in the least, and went closer to her before yelling her name again.

"Caspar, you can be a little more gentlemanly when you're calling for a woman," Dorothea chided him, slapping gently at his shoulder. Caspar grinned at her and pulled Linhardt forward.

"This is Lin!" Caspar gestured to Linhardt with his free hand, though he thought he saw Dorothea's big green eyes flicker to where he and Linhardt still had their hands clasped.

"So you're the famous Linhardt," she said, smiling her 1000-watt smile at him. "I've heard so much about you."

Linhardt glanced sidelong at Caspar. "I can only imagine the stories he's told you."

"They're certainly quite interesting," she replied. "I'm Dorothea, his stylist. We've worked together for a few years now, so it's always been a mystery to me why we haven't met, but now that I've seen you, I get why."

"What does that mean?" Caspar asked, his eyebrows furrowing, but Linhardt simply sighed in response.

"I prefer to be at home than in places like this." Linhardt waved his hand around, indicating the entire club. "But Caspar said this will be the only one he ever invites me to, so here I am."

"That's not what I said!" Caspar protested, trying to hold back a pout. "I said, this one has beds, so I thought this would be the only one you'd actually go to."

"Same difference," Linhardt replied lightly.

Dorothea's eyes glanced between the two of them, a laugh playing along her lips. "The music is a little too loud here to talk, so here." She pulled out two plastic bracelets ー Caspar had no idea from where ー and snapped one each around the wrists of their clasped hands. "Ferdie gave them to me for you. It's for the VIP section over there." She pointed to the back of the club, where there was an area shrouded in darkness beyond a flight of stairs.

"Oh, thank goodness. I hope it's less crowded than out here," Linhardt muttered to Caspar. His breath ghosted against Caspar's ear, making him shiver a little.

"Thanks, Thea," Caspar said instead of a response. "We'll see you there!"

"I'll be there in a bit," she replied, then winked at Linhardt for some reason, before turning back to the bartender. Caspar led Linhardt through the crowd once more before going up the stairs. The bracelets glowed in the dim lighting, allowing them to get in without trouble.

The VIP section was larger than Caspar expected, with smaller beds than the ones in the main area. Each bed had a table and champagne bucket next to it. Waiters with drinks on trays and some hors d'oeuvres moved in and out, though the crowd here was sparser than in the main area.

"This one looks free!" Caspar crowed, finding a bed without anyone's belongings already on it.

"Thank goodness," Linhardt said, instantly sitting down and laying back, his feet still on the ground. "These shoes are way too heavy for this."

Linhardt rarely put his hair up other than his silly little half-pineapple when he went to sleep, and the sight of his bare neck against the sheets made Caspar look away. Why? He'd seen Linhardt in a bed legitimately 36 billion times by now. It's like if Lin felt slightly embarrassed every time he saw Caspar in a tank top. It made no sense.

"They look good with that outfit," Caspar managed to say. "I'll go get us some drinks."

He wasn't sure why, but he couldn't stay with Linhardt on that bed right now. Was it the earrings? The eyeliner? The updo? Maybe it was the party, the scent of perfume and excitement in the air, getting to him. He'd been to a lot of parties before, but not ever with Linhardt. Maybe it was the nervousness that Linhardt would never want to come to a party with Caspar again. Yeah, that was it. That would kind of suck because Caspar wasn't especially a fan of industry parties and he was tired of going alone. But who else could he ask? Sylvain was always off on work trips around the world (plus, he was taken and his boyfriend sounded too cranky to be happy about Sylvain out at a party like this all night) and Raphael...Raphael might end up taking all the modeling jobs away from Caspar. That guy had a body.

Plus, he wanted to share this with Linhardt. He wanted to share everything with Linhardt. That's what best friends did.

Caspar was on his way to the bar when he got waylaid by a girl that he only vaguely remembered. Did they work together on a photoshoot? Or was it just from Instagram? His recommendations were full of fitness-related content, but Caspar didn't really care too much about finding other Instagrammers unless they offered unique workouts. (He did like seeing people's fitness transformations and was known for finding people just starting out on their fitness journey to leave comments of encouragement.)

Caspar still couldn't place where he knew this girl from, but he couldn't bring himself to be rude and shake her off. Plus, she kept touching his pecs and biceps and asking about his routine and for bulking-up tips. She already had nice arms and she clearly knew it, since she was wearing a shiny shirt with skinny straps that was a little too low-cut for Caspar's taste, but she claimed to be plateauing. Caspar couldn't just leave someone who seemed to want his advice.

He knew he'd been gone for much longer than he expected when he went back to the VIP area and found Linhardt fast asleep on the bed, his shoes abandoned on the floor. His face was flushed, the pink blush going all the way down to his neck and disappearing beneath his sweatshirt.

"You missed it all," Dorothea immediately grabbed Caspar by the arm, tugging him closer to the bed. "Where were you?"

"Sorry, I just...what happened?" Caspar asked Dorothea, who gestured at Linhardt, who had curled up on top of the sheets.

"Well, we talked, and he decided that he wanted to drink, so I called over the waiters. He had a few Amaretto and Cokes way too quickly, vocally eviscerated Lorenz for hitting on models, and then announced he was going to take a nap. And here we are." Dorothea shrugged before putting her hands on her hips. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Well, I guess I'll take him home," Caspar scratched his head. He never even managed to get a drink for himself. "I feel like we just got here, but if Lin's asleep, he's not gonna wake up."

"That's not what I..." she sighed. "I hope you wake up soon, Caspar."

"Uh...I'm not asleep, Thea."

All Caspar could do was watch as Dorothea raised her hands in exasperation and walked away.

He couldn't leave Linhardt all alone on the bed, so Caspar sat next to him instead. Some eyeliner had smudged off Linhardt's eyelid and onto his temple, so Caspar gently used his thumb to wipe it away. Caspar would never say that Linhardt was a particularly attractive sleeper, what with his tendency to let his jaw fall open so drool created a river between his lips and the pillow, but Linhardt was just so pretty that Caspar didn't even mind. Even in college, he'd spent enough time watching Linhardt sleep instead of doing his homework that the sight always made him feel calm. Is that what other people used meditation for? He never got into the relaxation or spiritual part of fitness that often came hand-in-hand with a lot of the work he did because he never really needed the help. After all, he had Linhardt.

It wasn't too long before Caspar gathered Linhardt up in his arms and carried him out of the lounge like a princess, a grin spreading across his face as he felt a small puddle of moisture forming on his T-shirt.

\-----

Caspar carried Linhardt into his own bed that night before going home since he had early plans the next morning for a workout at Raphael's. Usually, he'd have no problem letting Linhardt stay over at his place, but he didn't want to disturb Linhardt's morning.

Caspar made sure to tuck Linhardt in his bed and used a damp washcloth to wipe the eyeliner from Linhardt's eyes. He'd heard from Hilda all the time how bad it was to sleep with makeup on, so he didn't want to leave Linhardt like that. Caspar wasn't sure why it was bad, though. Maybe his eyes would get glued shut. He didn't want that to happen to Linhardt.

He left a glass of water by Linhardt's bedside along with some crackers for when he woke up before quietly creeping out of the apartment. They had keys to each other's apartments, so he made sure to lock up tight before he climbed into his Jeep and went home.

The clothes he was wearing weren't his, so he casually tossed them on his couch after peeling them off. He didn't think he should wash them -- who knows where Dorothea got them from? He didn't want to ruin them somehow with his patented way of doing laundry, which was to throw everything in the machine and see what happened. He wasn't dumb enough not to know that he shouldn't do that to clothes that weren't his.

He crept into his bedroom, not wanting to disturb Bruiser as she snored away in her kennel in a corner of the living room, and fell onto his bed with a fwump. Why had he been thinking so much about Linhardt lately? Well, obviously, they'd been friends for years and Linhardt was often the first person Caspar thought of in the morning and the last person he thought of at night. That's what best friends were.

But lately, he'd been noticing more what Linhardt looked like. The little hairs on the back of his neck, the elegant rise of his eyebrow when he thought Caspar was being stupid. Linhardt had elegant hands with long fingers and Caspar liked watching him type as he worked, those hands moving across the keyboard similar to a pianist's fingers flying across black and white keys to produce music. Linhardt had long, slender legs, longer than Caspar's, and Caspar thought Linhardt could be a model with those legs. Linhardt often hid them under baggy pants for comfort, but sometimes he wore shorts to sleep when it was hot, and Caspar secretly liked seeing them then. It felt like a secret ー only he knew how nice Linhardt's legs actually were.

Linhardt rarely smiled widely or laughed out loud ー unless he was with Caspar. Caspar felt his heart clench as he thought of Linhardt's big smile, unburdened and free. It made his eyes crinkle up in the corners, something Caspar had always found adorable. Caspar wanted to make sure that Linhardt could always smile like that.

"That sounds like you're in love with him," Raphael pointed out the next morning when Caspar described his feelings to him. They were in Raphael's home gym, and Caspar was doing kettlebell squats as Raphael bench-pressed a bar weighed down with an insane number of weights on the other side of the garage.

"Isn't that just how people feel about their best friends?" Caspar asked, his eyebrows knitted together as he slowly moved up and down, the kettlebell hanging heavily from his hands making him shake a little bit.

"Not really," Raphael grunted, the veins in his arms growing prominent as he lifted and lowered the bar. "How you're talking about Linhardt sounds more like how you used to talk about Hilda than the way you'd talk about me!"

Caspar stopped mid-squat, then slowly put the kettlebell down on the ground. "I used to talk about Hilda like this?"

"Yeah, kinda." Raphael kept going, not noticing that Caspar had stopped. "You used to tell us all about how you liked it when she tied her hair up and how much you liked her legs."

"Raph," Caspar said slowly. "Is it possible to not know if you like guys?"

Raphael racked his bar with a loud grunt, then sat up, swiping at his sweat with the towel around his shoulders. "I hear a lot of stories about people who don't know who they're into until they're older," he said, watching Caspar. Raphael was smiling at Caspar kindly, and Caspar felt something rush through him.

"I think I have to go," Caspar said after a moment, picking up his water bottle and bag. "I have to ー I have to go and ー "

"Get there safely!" Raphael called after Caspar, who had run out of his garage without finishing his sentence. "I hope he remembers he left his bike here," Raphael murmured, glancing at the motorcycle sitting in his driveway before lying back down to continue his chest presses.

Raphael lived a good 7 miles from Linhardt's place and Caspar ran the whole way there. His mind was racing faster than his body as he ran through a series of memories with Linhardt. Sylvain and Raphael constantly told him that his relationship with Linhardt had never seemed platonic, but he'd always laughed and waved them off. Dorothea mentioned it, too. But how could it not be platonic? They were best friends. Caspar was straight. Those things were set in stone and were unchangeable. After all, Caspar once had a girlfriend who he had loved and was devastated when they broke up.

With that last conversation with Raphael, Caspar's world felt like it shifted. His foundations had crumbled and he wasn't sure of anything anymore except that he loved Linhardt. He was in love with Linhardt. Was he straight? He didn't know. Was this what bisexuality was? Dorothea had told him about it, but he hadn't quite gotten it. He'd admired men's bodies before, but he'd always thought it was in a "damn, I wish I looked like that" kind of way. He didn't want to look like Linhardt, but he thought Linhardt was gorgeous. Linhardt was soft and long and pretty in a way that Caspar wasn't and couldn't be, and Caspar loved that about him. He and Linhardt had always been tactile and physically affectionate with each other, even in college, and he'd always just reached out to grab Linhardt in for a hug when he felt like it. When there were lightning storms, he knew he could always go to Linhardt's side of the room and crawl in his bed to feel safe.

He remembered telling the fellas that he and Linhardt often shared a bed. Raphael had simply shaken his head, while Sylvain carefully said, "the only boy I've ever willingly shared a bed with after puberty is Felix, my boyfriend."

Caspar hadn't thought anything of it at the time. Friendships could be different. What was platonic for one could be different for another. But, as he ran, Caspar's mind went to the last time they shared a bed. Linhardt had rolled over and pressed his supple body against Caspar's. Caspar had tangled his fingers in Linhardt's long hair and even after he'd gone home the next morning, he hadn't been able to shake off how silky it had felt against his rough, calloused fingers. Thinking about it now, Caspar groaned out loud, the wind making the sound carry beyond him.

It took him a little more than an hour to run to Linhardt's place, and he'd completely soaked through his T-shirt with sweat by the time he got there. Thankfully, his keys were in his bag so he let himself right in the way he had the night before.

"Lin?" he called quietly, toeing his shoes off and making a beeline for Linhardt's room.

Linhardt was sitting up in bed in the darkened room, blankets wrapped around him as he slowly nibbled at the crackers Caspar had left at his bedside the night before. Some of the water in the glass was gone, Caspar noted approvingly. He was still in last night's clothes, earrings occasionally catching the light from the various power surges in the room as he moved. Linhardt squinted as Caspar slipped inside, his face paler than usual.

"Don't say anything," Linhardt said before Caspar could even open his mouth. "You're going to be too loud for me right now."

"I have something really important to tell you," Caspar attempted to whisper, but even so, Linhardt flinched away from him.

"I'm never going to a party with you again," Linhardt groaned, putting the crackers back on the desk next to the bed before he laid back down and pulled his pillow over his head.

"Can I talk to you? The pillow muffles me, doesn't it?" Caspar stepped closer, though he was beginning to feel a little antsy. Maybe this wasn't the time. Maybe Linhardt would hate him for talking through a hangover headache ー but Caspar couldn't hold it in. He needed Linhardt to know.

Linhardt was prone for a moment before he heaved a sigh so deep Caspar could see it ripple through his body. "It's clearly a life-or-death situation," he said, removing the pillow and sitting back up. "Let's talk."

Caspar took the chance to sit on his bed, but Linhardt immediately leaned away from him. "You're sweaty! Caspar, my sheets!"

"You're hungover and wearing last night's clothes, so they need to be changed anyway," Caspar retorted, wiping away some of the sweat on his forehead with the back of his arm. "This is way more important than your sheets, Lin!"

"What on Earth could this be, Caspar?" Linhardt finally looked Caspar in the eyes. Part of Linhardt’s hair had fallen out of his topknot from last night and hung, scraggly, around his face. He needed to wash his hair, he needed a bath, and Caspar thought he was beautiful.

Caspar impulsively put a hand on Linhardt's face, his calloused thumb running gently over Linhardt's soft cheekbone. Linhardt's eyes grew wide as he jolted at the sudden contact. "Caspar?" he asked, voice uncertain.

"Lin," Caspar replied, his own voice growing gentle. "I love you. I probably always have."

Linhardt only stared at him for a moment before pulling away. "I'm still drunk and I'm clearly having alcohol hallucinosis," he muttered, turning away from Caspar and curling back down on the bed as he pulled the blankets up over his head. "I'm never drinking again."

"You're not drunk, Lin!" Caspar tugged the blankets out of Linhardt's grip, pulling them down. Linhardt was facing away from Caspar with his eyes screwed shut, but Caspar physically turned him over onto his back. "I love you."

When Linhardt opened his eyes, his eyebrows were furrowed and there was an expression on his face that Caspar had never seen before. He couldn't name it, but it made his chest clench up painfully. He wanted to wipe that expression off of Linhardt's face and delete it from his life so he never looked like that again. "Caspar, barely a few weeks ago you once again loudly and proudly declared to me over the phone that you were straight."

"I know," Caspar replied sheepishly, running a hand through his hair and making a face when it came away wet with sweat. He wiped his hand on his shirt as he continued speaking. "I thought I was. I didn't get it...I still don't, really." Caspar took advantage of Linhardt's surprise to tug him up to a sitting position so they could look each other in the eyes. There was a pink blush dusting Linhardt's cheeks, which Caspar found adorable.

"But I guess I can figure that out later," Caspar chuckled. "I figured this out first and I'm glad I did. It's more important than all that other stuff."

Linhardt was quiet and Caspar was suddenly struck with a thought. Yeah, he knew Linhardt was gay ー Linhardt had made it quite clear the first time Caspar had suggested going on a double date with Hilda and one of her girl friends. He'd never seen Linhardt date, but he'd never questioned it. Linhardt wasn't bold and he probably thought dating was annoying. Maybe Linhardt simply hadn't wanted a relationship with anyone. Had Caspar had just destroyed their friendship?

He'd never even entertained the idea over the hour that he'd spent running that maybe Linhardt didn't love him in that way.

"I...Linhardt?" Caspar asked, voice small.

"Caspar," Linhardt finally said after a long pause that made Caspar start fidgeting. "Do you remember when you had shoulder surgery?"

"Yeah..." Caspar replied slowly. "You really helped me out."

"I took care of you," Linhardt corrected. "I spent all that time helping you and caring for you even though I was simply your roommate. Why do you think I did?"

Caspar blinked at Linhardt, not understanding. "We were friends. It was only natural for you to help me out."

Linhardt scoffed, rolling his eyes at Caspar. "I wouldn't go that far for a friend. If what I felt for you was mere friendship, I would have sent you packing to go home to your mother's in a heartbeat." Linhardt placed his hand over Caspar's, where it had been picking at Linhardt's sheets. "I did it because I had already fallen in love with you, you oaf."

Caspar stared at Linhardt, his eyes growing wide. "Linhardt," Caspar said, tone growing urgent. "I had my surgery almost eight years ago."

"Yes, that’s correct."

"Lin." Caspar couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You've been in love with me since we were freshmen?"

Linhardt sighed, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I'm glad you can put two and two together."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Caspar's voice rose in panic. Eight years...he and Hilda were together a little over three years. Linhardt had been by his side the whole time. A pang of guilt made Caspar's stomach roll.

"We literally just talked about how you were sure you were straight," Linhardt pointed out, his eyes drooping as though he were bored ー bored! ー with this conversation. "Why would I ever tell you? You're my friend. I was just going to live with it."

Caspar's face crumpled. "You spent eight years all alone because of me..." He felt sick, like Linhardt’s hangover had been transferred to him instead. Linhardt hadn’t been alone out of choice ー it was Caspar’s fault. If only he hadn’t been such an idiot. The idea of Linhardt suffering for so long because of him made him want to punch himself in the face.

"Caspar.” Linhardt’s voice broke through his reverie. “I've been in love with you for eight years, but I knew it was useless. Why would you think I was alone?"

Caspar couldn't believe that Linhardt's face was actually one of surprise.

"Because I've never once seen you with anyone!" Caspar felt like he was going a little bit insane. He’d thought he was the one with the epiphany to share, but there was so much to Linhardt that he didn’t know. "You never spent any time with people who weren't me or Ashe. You don't date."

The little smile that appeared on Linhardt’s face after those words came out of his mouth made Caspar feel just a little insulted.

"Caspar," Linhardt said, his voice patient, but Caspar knew him well enough to know that he was trying to hold back laughter. "Byleth and I were friends with benefits for four years."

"Who?" Caspar nearly yelled. How did Linhardt have an entire side to him that he didn't know about? Sure, Caspar may not have realized he wasn’t completely straight, but this was an entirely separate issue.

"Byleth," Linhardt repeated. "Dark blue hair, dark blue eyes, blank face. He was often with me whenever you found me studying in the student lounge."

Caspar reached deep in the recesses of his memory and vaguely remembered a person-shaped blob sitting next to Linhardt in the booths in the basement of the student lounge where Linhardt liked to study if he wasn’t in the library. They'd never spoken, though Byleth would nod a greeting whenever Caspar stopped by. "I didn't know."

Linhardt shrugged. "You were busy with Hilda and your wrestling friends. I didn't think you needed to know about my sexual escapades."

Caspar wrinkled his nose in distaste. He didn't want to think about Linhardt's experience with some other guy. "Well...I guess I'm glad you weren't just pining for me or anything." Honestly, it did make him feel better to know that Linhardt hadn’t been wasting away waiting for him or anything, though it also rankled him that he, Linhardt’s best friend, didn’t know about a four-year-long relationship, casual or not. Did Linhardt have other friends Caspar didn’t know about?

"I don't pine, Caspar," Linhardt said. "But I do want to kiss you right now."

Caspar grinned. Without another word, he lifted his hand to bury his fingers in Linhardt's hair and pulled him in for a kiss. It tasted like sweat and stale sleep, and Caspar knew that it wasn’t a particularly good or sweet kiss, but it tasted like them and that made it perfect.

Despite the new step their relationship had taken, Linhardt allowed precisely 3 kisses before kicking Caspar out of his room to let him sleep. Caspar jogged the mile home humming a tuneless happy song, eager to get home to Bruiser to let her know the good news.

\-----

A few weeks later, Caspar’s phone rang not long after he updated his Instagram. He’d expected to get a bigger reaction than usual to his latest post, but not so fast. It hadn't been 15 minutes yet.

“Hey, Ashe!” Caspar greeted cheerfully, scratching Bruiser’s ears where she snoozed next to him on the couch. “How have you been?”

“Hi, Caspar. I’ve been all right. I've been busy training a new volunteer at the planetarium lately.” Ashe’s voice was always gentle ー a little too gentle in Caspar’s opinion ー but it was always nice to hear from him. Sometimes he and Linhardt had dinner parties at Ashe’s place where Ashe cooked, often ethnic dishes he learned from his partner, and Caspar would bring store-bought cookies or pie. (Linhardt brought himself and claimed that was enough.)

“That sounds good. I know you’re always a little short of help.” Ashe worked at the local planetarium, which was always busy due to their proximity to a major branch of the space program. Sometimes he even got to meet astronauts, something Caspar found super cool. Sure, Sylvain worked with space rocks, but it wasn’t the same as being an astronaut. That was just geology.

“Yeah...but that’s not why I called.” Ashe’s voice suddenly sounded urgent. “I saw your post! No  
one told me!”

“I thought Linhardt would have told you. Sorry,” Caspar replied, genuinely apologetic. He’d wasted no time in texting Raphael and Sylvain the news, though only Raphael wrote back since Sylvain was still away on business. He even let Hilda, with whom he was still friendly, know. She’d responded with a winky emoji and the emoji of the crackers popping.

The post he put up on Instagram was a picture of Linhardt asleep on the couch with Bruiser snuggled up against him, his arm thrown over her. Linhardt’s hair was all over the place and Bruiser had her head right next to his face, so he was obscured. Caspar had captioned it with “my favorite sight in the world” followed by some colorful heart emojis, the emoji of two men holding hands, and a dog emoji. The caption continued with “I promised that I would only make a single post about him, so this is the one!”

“Linhardt doesn’t tell me anything unless I ask specifically,” Ashe said with a sigh but perked up quickly. “But I’m happy for you two! We should celebrate. I’ll make you dinner. It’s taken you two forever.”

“You knew?!” Caspar almost yelled, startling Bruiser out of her nap. She huffed an unhappy sound at being woken up, so Caspar stroked her head apologetically as she settled back down.

“It was always quite obvious to everyone around you,” Ashe said with a slight laugh. “But better late than never. Congratulations, really.”

"Thanks," Caspar said with a smile. "I'll tell Lin about your dinner invitation so we can set something up."

"Sounds good. I have to get back to work now." A gruff voice said something unintelligible on Ashe's end. It sounded familiar, but Caspar couldn't work out what the person was saying or who it was. "See you later!" Ashe said cheerfully, drowning out the other voice, before hanging up.

Caspar leaned back against his couch, feeling a deep sense of contentment that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before in his life.

Later that night, Caspar was over at Linhardt's place for their weekly movie night. The large anchovy pizza with a side of fried chicken and garlic knots had been demolished and washed down with beer for Caspar and iced tea for Linhardt, and now they were cuddling on Linhardt's extremely comfortable couch and watching a random summer blockbuster.

Linhardt was lying on top of Caspar, both of their heads turned to face the TV. Caspar was idly playing with Linhardt's hair.

"You know, I think everyone was right," Caspar chuckled, an incongruent sound with the stand-off happening on screen. "I guess we've been together for years. Nothing's changed at all."

Linhardt propped his chin on his hands on top of Caspar's chest as he looked at him thoughtfully. "I don't think that's quite true," Linhardt replied.

Caspar blinked at him, ignoring the gunshots ringing from the screen. "What do you mean?"

"Some things have changed," Linhardt asserted, then leaned up slightly to kiss Caspar. Caspar smiled against his lips and pulled him tighter.

“The first time we watched a movie together,” Linhardt continued once they parted, slightly breathless, “was on the cold floor of a dorm room. Do you remember what we watched?”

Caspar made a grunting noise. “Lin, it was eight years ago…”

“It was _Armageddon_. I had never wanted to see that movie, but you put it on and I didn’t bother arguing.”

“Did you like it?” Caspar asked tentatively. He liked space movies. He liked the idea of warping through dimensions and getting to see other planets even though the whole light-speed thing kinda sucked.

“No,” Linhardt said flatly. Caspar looked a little disappointed, but Linhardt kissed him on the chin. “But that’s okay. It was the first time I’ve ever sat through a movie I didn’t want to watch.”

Caspar threaded his fingers through Linhardt’s hair, trying to remember the first time he’d ever touched it. It was so long ago, he couldn’t bring up the memory.

“You never watched a movie with Byleth?” Caspar brought up a little shyly. He didn’t know how to broach the subject of the relationship Linhardt had that he’d managed to never discover. It made his chest ache a little to know he’d been so caught up in his own life that he’d ignored such an important part of Linhardt’s.

“I did, but I always picked. Byleth never minded going along with what I wanted to do.” Linhardt traced Caspar’s bicep with a finger, the feel of his nail on his skin beneath his T-shirt making Caspar shiver. “It’s not like I had feelings for Byleth. We were friends who fooled around because we were both bored. When the client he was head over heels for said he reciprocated their feelings, we stopped. That was all.” Linhardt laughed a little at the memory. “Now he goes around with his princely boyfriend, distributing weed brownies around town like one of Santa’s elves.”

“Weed brownies?!” Caspar looked down at Linhardt, incredulously. He was beginning to feel like he didn’t know Linhardt at all.

“Calm down. I only had them when Byleth offered me some for free. Otherwise it isn’t worth it.” More explosions sounded from the TV, and Linhardt put his head back on Caspar’s chest, wrapping his arms around Caspar’s strong torso again. 

“My point is, you’ve changed me a lot, Caspar. I don’t think we’ll ever be the same as we once were, and I for one am glad for it.” Linhardt tucked his head under Caspar’s chin, the lovely floral smell of his hair oil dancing through Caspar’s nose.

Caspar continued running his fingers through Linhardt’s hair. He’d had a lot of fun in college, and it wasn’t easy to admit to himself that maybe he’d been a little too focused on himself for a lot of it. He and Linhardt had lived together all four years, but the latter half of his college career had been so filled with Hilda, his former teammates, and weekend parties to the point that Linhardt had refused to move in with him after graduation, wanting his space to be quiet and solitary.

He felt a little guilty about it now, though it was so long ago.

Linhardt’s weight was warm and solid against him and his scent made Caspar feel like Linhardt was embracing his whole body, accepting him despite his flaws.

Linhardt was right. They had changed. They’d continue to change, but this time it would be together.

Caspar was looking forward to that.


End file.
